


Like Fire, Knowledge

by wench_fics (WeasleyWench)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Complete, M/M, ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-21
Updated: 2012-09-21
Packaged: 2017-11-14 17:54:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeasleyWench/pseuds/wench_fics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freshly back from a five-year holiday abroad, Harry stumbles across a set of research notes that lead him to question a lot of his old beliefs about magic. <i>Forgiving the Unforgiveable – demystifying Dark magic</i> leads him to Malfoy Manor and to a very different, interesting Draco Malfoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Fire, Knowledge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sisi_rambles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sisi_rambles/gifts).



**Author/Artist:** (WeasleyWench)   
**Beta:** Romany  
 **Glomp For:** **Title:** Like Fire, Knowledge [Part Two](http://leemarchais.livejournal.com/37383.html)  
 **Pairing(s):** Harry/Draco   
**Summary:** Freshly back from a five-year holiday abroad, Harry stumbles across a set of research notes that lead him to question a lot of his old beliefs about magic. _Forgiving the Unforgiveable – demystifying Dark magic_ leads him to Malfoy Manor and to a very different, interesting Draco Malfoy.  
 **Rating:** NC-17 (contains NSFW art)  
 **Disclaimer:** All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.  
 **Warning(s):** switching sex, magical exploration which may not be canon-related, frottage, blowjob, wanking. If you must read the spoiler, highlight here: + virgin!Draco+  
 **Epilogue compliant?** No.  
 **Word Count:** c.13,900  
 **Author's/Artist's Notes:** Dear Sisi, I hope you like the use of your scenario and prompts. It was a lot of fun writing this, even if I had to start from scratch. ♥

**Like Fire, Knowledge**

It smelled like Kreacher hadn’t cleaned a thing in Grimmauld Place the entire time Harry had been abroad. He stood in the library, looking at a mass of post that had accumulated on his desk, then looked around the rest of the room. He heard the voices of Doxies: no wonder the library looked like hell. He sighed and went to investigate. They’d built a nest like they’d been breeding an army; he needed to get rid of it and them before they could destroy anything else. They’d wrought havoc with the books. The once-full shelves were half-empty, and tented books lay on the floor, along with loose papers and quills.

Harry got to work.

Three hours later, the Doxies and their nest were gone, he had half of the books returned to the shelves, and he lost interest in tidying up. 

Straightening some books to wedge an armful of household account books into the nearest available space, he dislodged a scrap of parchment; he picked it up and frowned at the scrawl, thinking at first that it must be Sirius’s handwriting. It wasn’t, but the words caught his attention: <i>Forgiving the Unforgivable: demystifying Dark Magic</i>.

[ ](http://www.marchais-walker.com/researchnotes.jpg)

He read on, squinting to decipher the scribble.

‘Cruciatus used as a diagnostic in coma patients? What the. . . ?’ Harry stopped and shook his head, thinking perhaps he’d been gone so long that he’d left his literacy in another time zone and misread. He looked again. He hadn’t misread it; it **was** an essay, or at least the research notes for one, on Dark magic. Defending it. 

The nature of Dark magic, former medical uses of spells the Ministry called Unforgiveable, and stuff in some language he couldn’t read, along with some weird symbols were everywhere. Book titles littered the page between notes, the ones at Grimmauld Place underlined, from what he could see. The ones the author didn’t have at his disposal were circled and scribbles written beside them. There were pages and pages of faded and battered research that could save lives.

Harry dropped into the desk chair, which creaked ominously. Kreacher arrived with tea, and Harry still hadn’t put the parchment down. 

‘This is definitely not taught at Hogwarts,’ he said to the parchment, scanning it again. 

In New Zealand there was no forbidden magic, but forbidden _applications_ of magic; Harry had been surprised, so he had asked questions, and he had been astonished to learn that what was legal seemed to vary from country to country. He frowned. 

Abroad, he’d got a taste for the freedom to learn magic – all magic, any magic – and his return home, limited that. 

‘Probably should’ve stopped longer with the Kiwis,’ he said to himself. ‘Kreacher, find any books we have in the library here that are on this list, please.’

Harry drank his tea and waited.

###

A week after reading non-stop from the books Kreacher had produced, Harry realised he was out of his depth academically and needed help. Luna, the obvious choice since her mind was so broad it could have been pulled out of her ears and tied in a bow under her chin, was away with her husband. Hermione worked for the Department of Mysteries, and she’d always been more of a stickler for rules, but she’d been willing to break them before if it meant serving the greater good. This was for the greater good. He would just have to convince her.

He shrank the parchments and put them in his pocket for safe-keeping, then Apparated to Ron and Hermione’s house.

He went straight to Hermione, and Ron was sent to look after the kids.

‘I found something I think you might be interested in. I know I am,’ Harry said, as soon as she closed the drawing-room door.

‘Really? What’s that?’

Harry pulled out the research notes and handed them to Hermione. ‘Think about how many lives this might save.’

Hermione looked at the notes, and the light of interest went on. ‘Where did you get this?’

‘Grimmauld Place. I was putting some things away and it fell.’

She nodded and continued to read. ‘This is. . . Harry, this. . .’ Her eyes were wide and for a moment she seemed to have lost speech. ‘It’s astonishing.’

‘See what I mean?’

‘Yes.’ She flipped further through the notes. ‘Have you read _all_ of this?’

‘The bits I could read, yeah. You know I don’t speak Latin – and whatever else that is.’

‘There’s some Greek. That’s Aramaic. . .Welsh. . .I think that’s Finnish.’

Harry felt like he’d just won the World Cup. Hermione never failed to come through. ‘I think it should be published. Well, after some research.’

‘Yes.’ Her eyes glittered at the opportunity, then her face fell. ‘I can’t.’

‘What?’

‘This much reading. . .it’s going to take _weeks_. And I’m due in Zurich tomorrow morning; I won’t be back for at least a month.’

‘I’ve got loads of time.’

Her eyes widened again and her eyebrows shot up. ‘Harry, and you and research aren’t exactly good friends.’

‘I read everything at Grimmauld Place already. That’s why I came to you.’

Hermione’s expression somehow looked even more surprised than before.

‘I did sort of grow up while I was away.’

‘Yes, but. . .really? You’re genuinely volunteering for serious research?’

‘Yeah. I think it’s important.’ Harry smiled and straightened up. ‘Only problem is, I’m out of books at the house. Hogwarts isn’t going to work. I thought about it: it’s term-time and would be stupidly inconvenient.’

‘Mm, and Madam Pince would ask awkward questions.’

‘Yeah.’

Harry waited; he could see Hermione’s mind working at full speed to solve the problem. 

‘Malfoy Manor.’

Harry blinked, his jaw dropping without his consent. ‘What?’

Hermione smiled slowly. ‘And Malfoy.’

He frowned, unable to come up with an argument, but also failed to come up with an agreement. Harry hadn’t thought about Malfoy in years. 

Hermione laughed, interrupted his thoughts. ‘The Manor has one of the most extensive libraries in Britain. And Malfoy. . .well, he’s not me, and he’s no Ravenclaw, but he’s got a good mind in there, when he can be bothered to use it.’

‘What do you mean, bothered to use it?’

‘Exactly what I said. He’s changed. He’s changed _a lot_.’ She smiled. ‘You’ll see what I mean. Anyway, the library is excellent, and he can help with the research, and he _will_ because he still owes you.’

Harry furrowed his brow. ‘How do you know about the library?’

‘I’ve used it a few times. Work things.’

‘Mm. Work things. Bloody Unspeakables.’ He chuckled.

‘I could tell you, but. . .’

‘Mm. I know, I know. You’d have to kill me. I think it might actually work the third time.’ He grinned, playing along with the joke.

Hermione rolled her eyes, then frowned. ‘The best person for this would be Luna, but she’s still in Uliastai. She’ll publish it, though; I’m sure.’

Harry nodded. ‘I was hoping she might.’

‘The research itself shouldn’t get us into too much trouble,’ she said. ‘I mean, it’s only _reading_. They haven’t banned that. And Malfoy will warn you off anything that’s Interdicted.’ She smiled wryly. ‘He avoids trouble nearly as diligently as he avoids work.’

‘Interdicted?’ Harry could only process one bit of information at a time. 

‘Forbidden. There are a few books that people aren’t allowed to read.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s ridiculous, but _owning_ them is still fine.’ She looked at the notes again, her focus on the one with symbols in lines and different shapes. ‘I wish I knew more about this.’

‘You could come look at it when we’re done. Before it’s published.’

She nodded. ‘Oh, I will; depend on it. I think you need to focus on the Ortholomancy.’

‘Yeah?’

Hermione showed Harry the page she was on. ‘I don’t know _all_ these spells, but I can see half a dozen that use some of the same kernels in the middle nodes; that might be relevant to why they’ve been Declared. I mean, if we examine those kernels and they turn out to be something malign. . .’

‘Yeah, but what if they don’t?’

‘Then we know that’s not a factor in why these spells were Declared when _those_ ,—’ she pointed to the legal equivalents, ‘—weren’t. And we start looking for another hypothesis.’ She laughed. ‘Welcome to my world.’

‘What are these nodes and kernels?’

‘They’re parts of the construction of the spell.’ 

‘Er. . .’ Things were _way_ over his head, now.

‘I don’t know the details of it; I haven’t studied it much, but from what I understand, the actual incantations we use is the end product of a _huge_ process of development.’ She smiled. ‘There’s a lot more to it than swish-and-flick.’

‘R _i_ ght.’

Hermione laughed. ‘Malfoy will understand it, at least as well as I do. Oh, I _wish_ Luna were here.’

‘Okay, so. . .how would I find the spell constructions? I mean, to compare them.’

‘Well, some of them are right here.’ She extended the page and pointed.

‘Oh, that’s what all that is?’ Symbols were all over, but he saw what she meant about the similar nodes she’d mentioned. ‘So, I need to find books with the nodes and spell creation. Compare them to legal and illegal spells.’

She didn’t disagree, but she pointed to a specific. . .equation of symbols – it was the only way he could think to describe it – and then at another set beside it. ‘This one here. You see how it’s repeated in these? And it’s in the same place.’

Now that he looked closer at it, the spell construction looked like punctuation in a sentence, but instead of words, there were the symbols – nodes – that seemed to make up the spell. 

‘And now look at the non-Dark versions. They have a different symbol at the parallel point. But that’s repeated between all of them. You see?’

‘Yeah.’

‘It might be significant. It might not, but I think it’d be a good idea to find out. I mean, if this one. . .’ she pointed to one of the nodes in a Dark spell, ‘. . .is malign, then it explains why these spells are Dark.’

‘What if it’s just a signature of the person who created it?’

Hermione laughed. ‘Then it’s probably not relevant. At least not relevant to _our_ study. Malfoy should have a primer on Ortholomancy.’

Harry nodded. ‘Mm. I reckon I need to go to Wiltshire, then.’ Vague recollections of the last time he’d been there surfaced. He shunted those memories aside; the past was the past. 

‘The house looks a lot better than it did last time.’ It was as though Hermione had read his thoughts

‘I’m sure it does.’

‘They got rid of the peacocks, and Lucius Malfoy is in Switzerland.’

‘Mrs Malfoy didn’t go with him?’

‘I think Narcissa spends most of her time in Monte Carlo.’

Harry frowned. It would probably be better that way. ‘Reckon that’ll be nice, then. Er, not getting anyone else involved, I mean.’

‘Simpler, at least. Malfoy won’t argue. It’s too much effort.’

Harry laughed. ‘You make him sound like a lush or something.’

Hermione laughed, too. ‘I’d pay to see that. No, he’s just. . .well, I suppose you might call him “laid back”.’

‘Mm. That I’d pay to see, too.’ He winked. The Malfoy of his memory was attractive, or at least not a complete eyesore. ‘Come on. You know you’d take a peek.’

Hermione shook her head, a fond smile curving her mouth. ‘In all seriousness, Harry, Malfoy _has_ changed. I doubt even _you_ could get under his skin any more.’

‘I believe it. I’ve changed. It’s possible. Bless him, Ron never changes.’

A glowy smile crossed Hermione’s face and seemed to take over everything. Not that Harry wasn’t happy for them; he just didn’t want to see what all of that. . .glow was between his mates.

‘Okay, I’m heading off to Wiltshire. I’ll need those back.’

Hermione gave them back and fussed over him for a few minutes before Harry managed to break away, without any weirdness.

###

The gates at Malfoy Manor opened before Harry could even orient himself. He frowned but reckoned Hermione was right about him owing Harry. He walked down the path, and was pleased to see no sign of peacocks, just a pond with giant gold fish.

He barely lifted his hand and the front door opened, a house-elf with his head tilted back so far Harry could see up his huge nostrils. 

‘Is Draco Malfoy available?’

‘Master is not being at home. Mr Harry Potter is welcome to Malfoy Manor. Mr Harry Potter is free to come and go as he pleases.’

Harry cocked his head to the side and furrowed his brow. ‘I am?’

The elf did not deign to enlighten him. ‘How may Malfoy Manor be serving Mr Harry Potter?’

‘Er, I’d like to use the library.’

‘Mr Harry Potter will not object to being escorted.’

‘No.’

The house-elf Apparated them to the library. Hermione hadn’t been kidding; it was huge.

‘Thanks, er, what should I call you?’

‘This elf is being called Philomel.’

‘Thanks, Philomel.’

The elf disappeared and Harry got started on looking for books he needed. 

Harry looked at the long rows of books and started pulling some down. If the names looked familiar, he added them to the pile, making trip after trip to the empty desk facing the gardens. Quills, ink and parchments waited for him.

One was a thick medical tome, concerned with palliative care for those dying of illness or injury. Harry read in horrified fascination about how the original Avada Kedavra had been used to remove growths or gangrenous limbs painlessly and instantly, how earlier versions of Cruciatus had been used to gauge the depth of coma and thereby determine treatment, how a spell that seemed mechanically similar to Sectumsempra had been used to rip poisons out of their victims, watching the drawings come to life, and the photos play their loop. 

There was so much information to take in that Harry had to stop a few times; it didn’t help that the books were old and sometimes difficult to understand. He sat back in the chair and worked out the cramp in his hand, relaxing little by little.

He closed his eyes. The next time he opened them, Philomel was staring at him and it was dark.

‘Oh, sorry. Should I leave?’

‘There is a bedroom ready for Mr Harry Potter.’

‘Oh. Er, thanks.’ He sat up and rolled his shoulders. His back ached a bit, but he reckoned a good night’s sleep would do him some good, and if the Malfoys were willing to put him up overnight, he wasn’t going to complain. 

‘Mr Harry Potter will not object to being escorted.’

‘No.’

As soon as he stood, Philomel Apparated them to the bedroom. It was large and sumptuous, and not nearly as gothic as he might have expected; like the rest of the Manor, at least as far as he had seen, it was… tranquil. In deference to the summer heat, there was a flower arrangement rather than a fire in the hearth, and a light supper was spread on the low table in front of it. If the house represented the people who lived in it, Malfoy _must_ have changed.

‘Thanks. Goodnight.’

‘Mr Harry Potter is to call if he is needing anything.’ 

‘I will do.’

Philomel bowed and disappeared. Harry ate his fill and went to bed.

###

The clothes Harry had left balled up on the floor were folded and clean. He got up and dressed in his jeans, t-shirt and trainers, and asked Philomel to take him to the library.

Breakfast waited on the central table, but the desk he had been using the night before was undisturbed. He ate, then looked at the research notes, the page Hermione had pointed out with the nodes and kernels of spell construction. He’d tried to get a few promising-looking books off the shelves, but they wouldn’t budge. 

‘Philomel?’

A _pop_ sounded and the elf looked at Harry.

‘Why can’t I get some of these books?’

Philomel gave him a look of superiority like Harry had only seen on a handful of wizard’s faces. ‘Some of them is being Sealed. Some of them is being Interdicted.’ It looked at some of the books with a nasty expression. ‘Some of them is being bad-mannered.’ It looked at another. ‘That one is being dead.’

Harry had never heard of a book dying before. But he ignored that thought for the moment and looked at Philomel. ‘Can you help me find books on the history of wizards and Dark magic? Ones I can read?’

Philomel snapped his stubby fingers. Harry threw his arms over his head and ducked as books started flying toward him, and landing in neat stacks.

‘Er, thanks. And when the Unforgiveables became the Unforgiveables and who decided.’

Another snap of Philomel’s fingers and another stack formed.

‘Brilliant. Alright, and books on making your own spells.’

‘Philomel is very sorry, but there is no books that Mr Harry Potter will be able to read on spellwrighting.’

Harry reckoned they were in another language. ‘Could use a Babelfish about now,’ he muttered.

For once, the elf looked disconcerted. ‘Philomel has not heard of Babelfish. Would Mr Harry Potter like a trout?’ 

Harry smiled, amused. ‘No, it’s from a Muggle book. I don’t need an actual fish.’ House-elves were entirely too literal for his liking. ‘I need something that can translate things for me, since I can’t read the books on spellwrighting.’

A resigned sigh came from behind Harry; he turned and saw Malfoy standing at the doorway.

Harry nodded. ‘Malfoy.’

‘You may go.’ Malfoy addressed the house-elf, which disappeared. He regarded Harry for a moment with an air of general apathy and then returned his nod.

Malfoy sloped across to the other desk and sat. Harry watched him poke a heap of letters and other parchments. 

Over five years had passed since the last time he’d seen Malfoy. Time had done him favours: he wasn’t pointy and sharp any more, but defined, tall and good-looking. He moved like lazy water. Harry couldn’t take his eyes off him as he continued to look at the papers with as much interest as a dog takes in processed food after tasting fillet steak. Malfoy seemed entirely unaware of the scrutiny.

‘The difficulty with the books on spellwritghting is not the language in which they’re written, per se,’ he said offhandedly, ‘It’s more the fact that you wouldn’t even be able to open one.’

Harry looked at Malfoy, trying to work out whether to be offended or grateful. ‘Why?’

‘You’re not a Crafter.’

‘Come again?’

‘They open only to people who have a specific talent for forging new magics. Crafters. You are not one of them.’

‘Oh.’ Harry thought about asking Malfoy if he knew where to find a “Crafter”. But he would come back to that. ‘I suppose there’s a way to find out what specific talents you have?’

‘Generally one stumbles across them, these days.’ 

That clearly hadn’t been the case in the past; Harry wondered what measures there **had** been, and how he would “stumble across” one when he hadn’t so far. _Do I even have one_? ‘Haven’t found one yet,’ he muttered folding his arms. He wondered if kids who grew up in magical families knew that sort of thing or if everyone was always trying to catch up. Malfoy didn’t seem to hear; he carried on disinterestedly with his letters without glancing at Harry.

There was a polite cough off to the side. ‘Forgive my nephew’s atrocious manners.’

Harry looked at the one moving portrait in the vicinity.

‘What he is signally failing to point out to you is that _he_ has a talent sufficiently proximate that he is readily able to, ah, read the volumes in question.’

Harry glanced at Malfoy, who was still reading, or at least pointing his eyes at a parchment. Malfoy raised his head and, with an air of complete boredom, threatened the portrait with banishment back to the gallery. 

The portrait chuckled.

‘So, what’s your talent, then?’

‘I’m a wandmaster. And I didn’t tell you because you didn’t ask.’ Apparently he felt that it would be easier to volunteer the information than wait for Harry to ask the question.

‘That’s fair. So you make wands?’

‘Wandmasters generally do.’ There was no venom in the response; it wasn’t the sharp retort he would have expected from the Malfoy he’d known at school. 

_That means you know how to put cores in. . ._ ‘Can you fix them?’

‘Of course I can.’ 

‘Could you fix my old one?’ The words rushed out.

For the first time, Malfoy appeared slightly interested. He actually looked at Harry, and his posture shifted subtly. ‘What’s wrong with it?’

‘It bleeds. . . sort of. And I hear it crying.’

Malfoy was on his feet and round the desk as if he had been electrified. Everything about him had changed: the lazy slouch was gone without trace, the air of apathy had evaporated, and in their place was the intent vigour of an intellect at its peak cloaked in contained power and poised to spring. It shot straight to Harry’s groin and lit up his whole body. Malfoy was _hot_.

‘ _Where is it_?’ he demanded, the wand a matter of life and death.

‘Grimmauld Place.’ Harry’s mouth worked even though his brain could only process one thing: _take me to bed **now**. Or I’ll take you, bend you over your desk, or you can bend me over. Anything. You can fuck me like a Knockturn Alley whore, do whatever you want, as long as one of us gets a cock up the arse._. 

‘Fetch it, then. Or take me to it. Don't just stand there looking stupid.’ 

Words and thought drained from Harry’s ear, his eyes too busy watching Malfoy and images of what he looked like naked and wanton flashing like lightning across his mind’s eye. Harry held out his arm and Apparated them directly to his bedroom, where he kept the wand wrapped in silk, under his pillow.

Malfoy’s face went greyish and he located the wand without Harry telling him where it was. He unwrapped the bundle and sat cross-legged in the floor, laying the pieces tenderly in his lap. Unaware of anything but the wand, it seemed, Malfoy cradled the shards like a butterfly with a broken wing. His long fingers ran over the exposed core and wood, as if they were soothing a nervous unicorn foal, and he murmured reassuringly to the wand, too softly for Harry to hear his words. Eventually a feeling of peace and restfulness settled in Harry. He furrowed his brow, then blinked.

Malfoy looked at him, angry and sorrowful. Tears ran in tracks down his cheeks. Harry didn’t know what to do; reach out and wipe away the tears, ask why he was so sad, keep his mouth shut and wait to see what happened. Malfoy’s gaze hardened. Pressure weighed on Harry’s chest.

_Am I about to have another broken nose?_

‘ _Give me your wand._ ’ 

Harry frowned but surrendered it.

A moment after Harry handed it over, Malfoy gave him a nasty look. Both wands disappeared, and Malfoy’s expression changed. Harry felt dread rising in his throat like bile. Power built all around them. 

‘ _The hawthorn wand doesn’t need fixing. . ._ ‘Er, that’s my wand.’ Harry didn’t know what to do with Malfoy when he was like this. Anything could happen. In his sleeve, the Elder Wand called to him, urging him to let it slide into his palm and attack before one came at him.

‘You don’t deserve a wand.’ Malfoy unfolded from his position on the floor like the wrath of gods, more frightening and imposing than Lucius had ever been, and all the more menacing for the deliberateness of the movement.

The Elder Wand screamed at the edges of Harry’s awareness, its lust for combat and conquest making his vision darken and his ears ring. ‘What? What are you talking about?’ 

‘ _How_ could you treat them like that?’ Malfoy spat.

‘Like what? The holly one broke during the war. I don’t know what you mean about the other one.’

‘The one that broke during the war has been in **agony** ever since then,’ Malfoy said, sharply, cutting into Harry as easily as a scalpel. ‘And the other one. . . _Why_ have you been casting those spells with it?’

‘Oh, bugger. I’ve been in New Zealand for the last five years. Spells that are Dark here aren’t considered Dark there.’ 

‘Whether they were Dark or not is irrelevant! You were casting spells that your wand didn’t like!’

‘How was I supposed to know that?’

Malfoy stared at Harry, rage apparently halted in its tracks like a locomotive encountering an unexpected landslide. ‘You can’t _feel_ your wand’s reluctance?’

‘No, but then again, it’s not my wand. It’s your old one. The Elder Wand just does whatever.’

Malfoy’s expression darkened. ‘That wand should be destroyed. It’s more monstrous than Voldemort ever was.’

Harry pulled the wand from his sleeve. ‘Have at it.’

Malfoy snatched the wand and Disapparated.

Stupefied, Harry looked at the empty room, wandless, shock turning to irritation and flickering until it caught fire in his belly and rushed over him as anger. 

‘ _Damn it_! Kreacher!’ 

Kreacher appeared and looked at Harry. ‘How is Kreacher serving Master?’

‘Take me to Malfoy Manor, please.’

Kreacher followed Harry’s command. They arrived and Kreacher was gone before Harry blinked. The air was charged, and a deep hum coming from the walls. The foundation of the house was unsteady, like any moment it could explode with the energy of Malfoy’s fury. Harry braced himself and called Philomel to take him to Malfoy. 

It was a workshop, cluttered but functional, nothing like Ollivander’s, but all Harry really noticed was Malfoy and his intent concentration on the Elder Wand suspended in some complex apparatus on the scarred, scorched table before him. 

He opened his mouth to speak – accusations of high-handedness, recriminations about Malfoy’s hypocrisy, something – and then the spell hit him. He hadn’t even seen Malfoy move. 

Ropes wrapped around him, and Harry tried to speak, only to find his voice frozen. Malfoy did things Harry had never seen before, and through his immobilisation, he could feel a humming chorus around him, energy building as though every wand in the room were reacting to the Elder Wand’s presence and impending destruction. Harry watched, feeling prickles from the base of his spine upwards as he tried to fight the ropes and call the wand back to him, to stop the screaming in his head, anything to make the wand come back so it couldn’t be destroyed. There was a flash of _kill_ in his mind, the urging of the wand, his thoughts taken over by the need to get it out of Malfoy’s hands and back into his own. It was his. The wand wanted him.

Concentrating, Malfoy his own over the Death Stick. His mouth moved, but Harry didn’t hear anything, just the screeching in his mind, demanding Harry defend it, reminding Harry how it had helped him in the past and to return the favour.

There was painful snap and recoiling of energy. The wand crumbled on the scarred desk. 

Malfoy picked up a silver dust-pan and swept the remains into it, then dumped it in a cauldron tucked unobtrusively behind a sturdy workbench. Smoke filled the room, and it smelled like every bad thing Harry had ever known. 

The spells released Harry, and he sat up slowly, making every breath count. He felt weak and drained, his head hurting and body aching like he’d be flogged for hours. 

‘What was that all about?’

Malfoy gave him an irritable look as he put his dustpan away. ‘You know perfectly well that that wand was considerably more sapient than most of them. It would have interfered if it could.’ 

‘If you want the truth, when I left here, I tried to forget about all that bollocks.’

Malfoy closed his eyes, visibly clamping self-control down over whatever new murderous impulse Harry had managed to provoke.

‘I didn’t come here to fight with you. I know, it wants to survive.’

‘ _Wanted_. Malfoy opened his eyes and gave Harry a flat look. ‘I can’t think of anything to say that isn’t offensive.’

Harry had to give him credit for not saying it. Once upon a time, he would’ve spat whatever offensive thing he was thinking without a moment’s hesitation. Harry didn’t want to provoke him further. It wasn’t like he’d set out to do from the outset; it always just seemed to happen with them. Malfoy’s restraint showed that he had matured; Harry hoped that his own did the same.

‘That needed doing. You were right.’

‘It has been known to happen.’

‘Mm. Now there are only two left. Well, pieces of one and one whole one.’ At least he didn’t say something offensive. They seemed be getting back on stable ground. Sighing, Harry ran a hand through his hair and asked, ‘Why do we always start off on the wrong foot?’

Malfoy went to his shelves and talked to the wands, tried to soothe them. ‘It must be a knack.’

Harry shook his head. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’

‘I suppose that must also be a knack.’

Harry was amused more than offended: testament to his having matured during his sojourn in the southern hemisphere. It pleased him that an exchange which would have been acrimonious a handful of years earlier felt instead like the comfortable bickering of old friends. He couldn’t imagine anyone else being able to do these exchanges so well. ‘I’m not a Dark wizard. Honestly. I never felt anything that would make me not use the spells I was taught. Nothing. I didn’t even know until I got home that the spells _were_ Dark.’

‘And yet I _am_ a Dark wizard, despite never having cast so much as one of them.’ There was irony and amusement in the statement.

‘How’s that, when I’ve had the wand for the last five years?’

‘What?’ Harry watched Malfoy, who seemed only to be listening with half an ear.

‘You said you were a Dark wizard, despite never having cast as much as one of them.’

‘Yes. And you then said something about your wand which bore no relation to my statement at all.’

‘Er, I thought it did. And I never said you were a Dark wizard.’

Malfoy sighed, as if dealing with Harry was becoming too much like hard work. ‘I didn’t say _you_ said I was a Dark wizard. The Wizengamot made that decision a number of years ago.’

‘Then maybe you’ll be interested in why I’m here for research.’

‘Given the nature of the books you’ve gathered, I infer that it’s something to do with Dark magic.’

‘It’s more than that,’ Harry tried to convince him. ‘Come on.’ He took Malfoy’s arm.

Malfoy Apparated to the library, and they broke apart like space debris from a meteor. Harry went to the desk he was using, and Malfoy stood, watching him.

Harry pulled out the research notes. ‘This. This is why I’m here.’

Accepting the notes seemed to take effort, but Malfoy did. He read the ones Harry had found at Grimmauld Place, but it was hard to tell whether he was convinced or not.

‘It’s important. I don’t know who started it, but I plan to finish it.’

‘Well, yes. You’d hardly be here otherwise.’ The familiar boredom was creeping back into Malfoy’s tone and bearing. 

‘I need to read the notes on the decisions to classify the spells as Dark.’

‘You won’t like them.’

‘Why not?’

Malfoy shrugged. ‘Because they’ll tell you that there’s no such thing as an overarching principle of what constitutes Dark magic.’

Harry’s jaw dropped.

Malfoy looked at the notes again with a general air of apathy. ‘It’s all arbitrary. Whether or not a spell is Dark essentially comes down to the whim of the chief adjudicator.’

He sighed like oozing honey and went to one of the bookcases and retrieved a large book, which he set down in front of Harry. ‘Read for yourself.’

With a feeling like an anchor had been wrapped around his heart, he read for hours, spell after spell, being cited as Dark. There were reasons listed, but silly ones, to Harry: the damage had been disastrous, or a person with bad intentions had used it, who they’d used it on, whether there had been a threat to life. All of these were things that Harry – and the research notes argued against. That it had nothing to do with the spell, but the way it was used. His head spun, and he was beginning to think that this was a losing battle, that no matter how hard he worked or how much he read, there was no argument that would not be solid enough to make an impact on the way the Ministry handled things. There had to be something he could do. The dates went back centuries; having the rulings overturned would take forever, but Harry _knew_ it was something that had to be done. Even if he started it and released it to the public, the public would take things from there - _wouldn’t they?_ At least _Hermione_ would 

‘If you knew all of this, why haven’t you done something about it before now? And why don’t you want to do anything about it now?’

‘What exactly am I supposed to “do”? Have you forgotten who my father is?’

There was no need to say “no”. and he knew what Malfoy had meant by it. Any attempt Malfoy made to promote enlightenment about Dark magic would be quashed very quickly by arguments about his father. ‘So help me do it.’

Malfoy sighed again, he had slouched to his desk and started wearily making his way through his correspondence. ‘I am helping you.’

Allowing Harry to use the library and have run of the house _was_ helping, but he didn’t know if Malfoy wanted any association with the project at all. ‘I want Luna to publish the findings.’

Malfoy shrugged.

‘Do you want credit for your help?’

Malfoy shrugged again.

Harry wished he understood Malfoy's motives, or lack thereof. He understood the importance of the work, but it didn't seem to matter to him - and yet he'd put himself, by his standards, at least, to a lot of trouble over it.

 

‘Why are you helping me with this if you don't give a toss about it? Why are you even letting me use your library?’ Another question that had been hovering around the edges of Harry's mind presented itself for attention again. ‘And why did you leave the Manor open to me like this?’

Another shrug. ‘It seemed appropriate.’

‘Appropriate how?’

Malfoy glanced up from his clearly boring letter. ‘In the traditional sense of the word.’

‘Er? What, because of the life debts? If that’s the case, just call it even if you help me make this worthwhile for people to read.’

Now, instead of looking bored, Malfoy looked like an empty parchment amused by something. ‘That’s not how it works. And I say again, I _am_ helping you.’

‘Mm.’ Realising his question had gone unanswered and they were about to circle back and start all over, Harry decided on changing topics. ‘How’s my wand?’

The boredom shifted away and Malfoy came into focus. It was like a room with one candle had been filled with them, and that heat went straight to Harry’s groin. His apathy, boredom, indifference melted away in that heat. ‘Recovering satisfactorily.’

Harry nodded. ‘That’s good.’ He was also relieved that something he once thought impossible was now possible. ‘What do I owe you for fixing it?’

Malfoy looked appalled. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Er, what do I owe you for fixing the wand? Usually you pay for that sort of thing. . .’

The suggestion seemed repellent; Malfoy tried to find words, but they were eluding him. He finally said, ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I wouldn’t dream of accepting payment for that.’

‘No?’ Harry was slightly confused. 

‘No.’ It was firm enough that Harry decided he wouldn’t mention it again.

‘Alright.’ Harry nodded.

Malfoy seemed to settle down a fraction, which was nice.

It occurred to Harry that when Malfoy wasn’t sniping about something, which to be fair to him wasn’t that often, he was quite nice company to be around. Surprisingly restful, even; enough that time seemed to disappear around him.

###

More days flew by in a haze of reading Declarations of Dark magic and the reasons for the decisions. The Manor library even had some of the books from other countries justifying their continued use, which had been helpful.

One morning, after a lot of late nights, Malfoy produced Harry’s hawthorne wand from his sleeve. ‘No experimental magic. It doesn’t like it.’

Harry accepted it and nodded. ‘Thanks.’ 

Something about the way Malfoy gave it to Harry wasn’t right, like he almost seemed sad or wistful. He wasn’t reluctant; perhaps regretful, like he was giving away a piece of himself. And maybe he was, given how attached to them he seemed to be.

‘I have some wands at home. . .I’ve kept them since the war. Do you want them?’

‘Yes,’ Malfoy replied without hesitation. Then he blinked. ‘Yes, please. Whose were they?’

‘Don’t remember. We got them from the Snatchers. Want to come with?’

‘Yes.’ He held out his arm, demanding Harry take him Side-Along. Mentioning wands had transformed Malfoy’s entire bearing again, and Harry got that feeling in his balls that made them ache for release. Malfoy buzzed, and the air around him felt electric with excitement, curiosity, and things Harry couldn’t identify. Things he wanted to know. 

Less smoothly than Malfoy, Harry Apparated the two of them to Grimmauld Place, directly into the main library. At least he hadn’t destroyed _these_ wands. He had a feeling Malfoy would like them.

Harry held onto Malfoy's arm a little longer than was necessary. Malfoy didn't seem to notice. Harry let go anyway and went to his desk. Underneath parchment and random things, a box sat. He withdrew it and placed it on the desk-top, opened it, and unwrapped each wand, placing them side-by-side for Malfoy to inspect. It didn’t take long for Malfoy to get stuck in investigating the wands. Harry watched him test them for a moment and remembered the prize wands in his accidental collection.

‘I’ll be right back.’

Harry went to his bedroom and looked at his school trunk. Dust covered it, apart from the small fingerprints Kreacher left behind when he moved it around to clean everything _but_ it. Harry didn’t blame him. Some of the things inside were not the sort of thing anyone should want to touch. Harry hadn’t done anything with them since he’d wrapped them up and stored them in the trunk. They gave off strange colours and odours that he didn’t want to see or smell. Just running his fingers along the edge of the lid made his fingers tingle. He finally opened it. Reaching down, he felt for the Invisibility Cloak wrapped around these objects. He removed the invisible bundle and took it to the library. Malfoy was still examining the wands.

Harry placed the Cloak on the desk and unwound it from the things inside.

Malfoy looked at Harry like he was completely mental. ‘The Ministry has been looking for these for _years_.’ He glared at Harry. ‘They’ve searched my workshop every year.’

Harry’s eyes widened and he lost speech for a moment. ‘Sorry. I didn’t know. I’ve never used them. I kept them locked up. Nobody knew I had them.’ Voldemort’s and Malfoy’s mad aunt Bellatrix’s wands lay in the shimmering cloth. Harry cupped the pieces of the Resurrection Stone in his palm. ‘This can be destroyed, too.’ Harry touched the Cloak and opened his palm to show Malfoy the shards of the ability to chase a dream – a way to disconnect from reality. A time-stop in the past – it was time to move on, live in the real world. . . even if he felt like he was destroying a piece of his father, the memory of his father.

Malfoy gathered everything up, took Harry’s arm and Disapparated. The other side was Malfoy’s workshop. ‘Drop them in the cauldron. Don’t inhale the vapour or get splashed.’

First, Harry took the pieces of the Resurrection Stone and dropped them in, watching them steam and melt into the heavy metal. Holding the Invisibility Cloak gave him pause. He lifted it and felt the memories in the thread as though they had happened yesterday, and heard them as though they were right there – his father and the others sneaking out of Hogwarts, he and his mates sneaking around. Memories he could lock away in his mind, and that was where the ones about his parents, the Hallows and the times he’d used them belonged. The past, no matter how much he sometimes wanted to pretend otherwise, was impossible to reclaim.

Harry raised the Cloak to his nose and inhaled; then he let it slip into the cauldron. It was gone; he watched the concoction eat away at the shimmering fibres. Magic crackled, flared up. Harry remembered to step back. 

Malfoy was arranging the wands Harry had given him.

‘How did you. . .work out that you were a wandmaster?’

‘Not a difficult conclusion to reach, given that that every wand I touched responded instantly and appropriately. Of course, it takes time and effort to turn talent into skill.’

 

‘And now you’re one of the best.’

‘Yes.’ Said plainly, Malfoy’s answer was quiet confidence that Harry appreciated. Malfoy finally seemed satisfied with the arrangement of the wands. ‘I suggest that you step a little further back and cover your mouth and nose.’

Harry did.

Malfoy pulled a stone flask off a shelf and poured whatever it contained into the cauldron, then took one of his long strides away. Everything roiling around in the cauldron combusted. A flare that made burning magnesium look dull and sluggish roared up, bright and sharp, then left only a fog of toxic, noxious vapours. Malfoy approached the cauldron and looked inside. He nodded.

‘Philomel, if you would be kind enough to replace that,’ Malfoy said, then looked at Harry. ‘And thus perish the Deathly Hallows.’

Harry nodded. Those damned things had only served to manipulate and make people do stupid things in the name of being the Master of Death. No one was the Master of Death. People lived, people died, and it was that simple. Too many people had died trying to get their hands on those three artefacts. No one could truly master death. ‘That should’ve been done a long time ago. I’m glad it was you.’ Harry held out his hand. ‘Thanks, Malfoy. Congratulations on finding your calling. Really. You deserve it.’

Surprised hovered for a moment on Malfoy’s face. He accepted Harry’s hand. ‘Not at all.’

Harry smiled, holding again for longer than was necessary, but Malfoy didn’t seem to notice. Malfoy seemed calm.

That night after dinner, they sat in the library sipping brandy. They’d accomplished a lot in – now that he thought about it, it had been a few weeks. Harry couldn’t believe the time had gone so quickly, and he found he didn’t want it to end. 

Malfoy lounged on the other sofa, toying with a piece of wood that would clearly one day become a wand. He didn't have the intent energy about him that Harry had seen when he was focussed on his vocation, but there was something of it echoed in the contentment he radiated - a fluid calm and desire wrapped up in a man who seemed to have forgotten that the right people could be just as interesting.

After his third or fourth drink, Harry asked, ‘What’s it feel like to make a wand?’

Malfoy stopped turning the piece of wood in his hand and thought for a moment. ‘. . .indescribable.’

‘In a good way?’

‘Mm.’ Malfoy gave Harry an oddly impish look. ‘Given a choice between completing a wand and orgasm, I’d have to go with the wand.’

Fire razed Harry’s cheeks.

Malfoy continued. ‘It’s not dissimilar, actually. In terms of the feeling of. . .I don’t know how you think of it. Completion? Satiation? Achievement?’

Harry nodded. ‘Of course, a better lover might help,’ he said, hoping he’d learn a little more about Malfoy’s tastes.

Malfoy snorted and finished his drink. His gaze fell on the wood in his hands. ‘I doubt there’s a lover in the world who could better the moment of creation.’

‘Maybe not better, but equal it.’

For once, Malfoy looked amused. It was nice. ‘If I ever find out, I shall let you know.’

Harry said, ‘I think I’d be a little too envious to hear that one.’

‘Hmm?’

‘I’d be a little too envious to know _who_ managed to give you an orgasm that felt as creation.’

‘What on earth are you talking about?’

Malfoy had completely missed the point. Anything that didn’t involve wands just wasn’t important; typical of his obliviousness to the world around him. Harry gave a half-smile. ’Unless it’s me making you come like that, I don’t want to hear about it.’

Malfoy was stunned. ‘Are you making a _pass_ at me?’ He asked it as though it was the most unbelievable thing he’d heard in his life.

‘Yeah.’

Open, close, Malfoy’s mouth was like a door in a breeze, without any words. When he did manage a reply, if it could be called that, it was an “Oh” that sounded more like he had no way of fitting the idea into his mind. It was a puzzle piece not meant for the current picture in his head. Now that he had Malfoy relaxed and talking about something, he wanted to continue.

‘This has been nice. Us working together a bit, I mean. I like it.’

‘Do you?’

‘Mm. You’re confident now, not arrogant. Me, I probably haven’t changed much.’ Harry chuckled. ‘Shame that I won’t be able to see if I can get you an orgasm equal to creation.’ He grinned. ‘I reckon you’re not really into blokes.’

Light red spread on Malfoy’s cheeks, easy to see on his pale face. Harry swallowed, pleasure and anticipation rolling up his spine like a cool breeze. 

‘Oh. . .you are?’ 

‘I, ah. I’m not _not_.’

Harry leaned forward. ‘Have you ever. . .had sex with a man?’

Malfoy lifted his chin slightly. ‘No.’

Harry’s mouth began to water; he couldn’t believe what he’d heard. A flash of fucking Malfoy burned into his mind, one with his mouth all over Malfoy’s pale skin, his cock in Malfoy’s arse, his hands jerking Malfoy off until he unravelled left a stain on the sheets. It felt like his lungs shut down for a moment. ‘Oh, Malfoy,’ he almost moaned. ‘You are missing out.’

‘I’m a wandmaster.’ He seemed to think this was somehow relevant.

‘Human, too, last time I checked.’

Harry shuddered, inhaling, those images coming to life in his mind. Fire filled his veins, spreading out, his heart pumping blood so fast to his prick that he could hardy think. Knowing Malfoy had never been with a man took hold of Harry and consumed his thoughts. Anything, he’d do anything to be the one to have Malfoy, give him a meaningful fuck that left its own imprint. And he wanted to make Malfoy come so hard he changed his mind about orgasms and creation of a wand. 

‘I would let you have me, too,’ Harry said; there was nothing like a good shag after getting someone else off.

Malfoy had no idea what Harry was talking about. 

‘Switch. Me shag you, and then you shag me.’

‘I’m not entirely sure that I follow,’ he said dubiously.

Malfoy’s naïf lack of understand was endearing. Harry wanted to smile, but he thought it might come across as condescension or worse. 

‘You should know what giving and receiving are like.’ Then he whispered, ‘I’d be gentle.’

Malfoy’s change of expressions were comical: confusion, suspicion, then nauseated horror. ‘Are you referring to _anal intercourse_?’

Harry took a moment to breathe. If he opened his mouth before that, he would say something stupid and that was the last thing he wanted. ‘Yes.’

‘You mean to tell me that people actually _do_ that?’ He sounded utterly stunned.

‘Yeah. It feels good. I wouldn’t rush you into it or anything. I mean. . .assuming you’d want to. A bit of snogging and some trust on your part would make things easier.’ Harry thought for a moment. Malfoy’s expression wasn’t changing, and he needed to come up with something to stop him from   
tripping over the details. ‘I could share a memory with you. I saw the Pensieve in the library.’

Malfoy blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘My first time. And then one later.’

An interesting shade of rose coloured Malfoy’s cheeks. ‘I’m sure that’s a very generous offer. . .’

Malfoy didn’t make it sound generous, though. Harry got it. He wasn’t sure he’d really want to see someone else’s memories like that, either.

He shrugged a shoulder. ‘I thought it might make the idea easier for you. Look, I’m realistic. You don’t love me. But I _am_ a good lover. You’re attractive. You’ve grown on me the last few weeks. But I’m adult enough to take rejection.’

Malfoy sniffed. ‘That sounds like something fungal.’

‘Okay, let me phrase it better: I’ve grown fond of your company.’

Surprised by the look of pleasure on Malfoy’s face, Harry stopped and blinked.

‘Yes. It has been. . . novel. Pleasant.’

Harry smiled, then moved to sit beside Malfoy. ‘Close your eyes,’ he said gently.

‘Why?’

‘Or keep them open. I want to kiss you.’

Malfoy made a noise that sounded like “huh”, but was definitely one of having heard what Harry had said, and – crucially – was not an objection. He nodded.

Harry leaned in, and Malfoy met him in the middle – a nice surprise from a bloke with no experience. Not quite _no_ experience, apparently: he kissed Harry, not expertly, but definitely without the clumsiness and fumbling he would have expected from a complete novice. He let Malfoy take control, lead and tilt his head the way he wanted it; he wasn’t going to put the man off by insisting that he should have the initiative. Malfoy wasn’t in a hurry, which Harry liked. Now he had a chance to learn reactions to drive the slow build until he could give Malfoy the pleasure he deserved. The watching finally was physical, the desire something he could touch, taste. Malfoy tasted like tea. He smelled like he’d just showered and shaved; there was no stubble to scratch at Harry’s lips as they moved against Malfoy’s. He imagined Malfoy under the spray of water, his lithe body flush against Harry’s, and Harry’s mind clouded over. He wanted to _touch_ , and find what would make Malfoy want him, too. He wanted to reach out and feel if Malfoy’s cock was hard, too, find out if Malfoy _wanted_ as badly as Harry did in that moment. The kiss wasn’t enough to tell him everything he wanted to know. He needed their bodies and mouths to have the conversations their voices wouldn’t.

When Malfoy relaxed, Harry felt it, and just as quickly as he’d taken control, Malfoy handed it back.

Harry reached for Malfoy’s face and guided it to a better angle, cradling his cheek with one hand, resting his other on the curve of shoulder and neck. He ran his thumb back and forth over Draco’s throat and side of his neck, feeling heat, shared heat from arousal. Feeling the tension beneath his fingers, Harry stopped the kiss, found his way to Malfoy’s neck and ran his lips across the piano-wire tight tendon and muscle.

Malfoy started.

‘It’s alright,’ he said. ‘I won’t go anywhere you don’t want me to.’

‘What are you doing?’ Malfoy asked, breathless.

‘Just kissing.’ Harry pulled the other man’s earlobe between his lips and sucked the smooth edge. ‘When you said making a wand was better than an orgasm, and you haven’t had sex with another man, that means you’ve only slept with women before, right?’ 

‘Yes. No. We didn’t... just-’ The words came out in a tangle of moan and trapped oxygen.

‘No?’

‘Once. I was drunk and she was ambitious. But we didn’t...’

_A virgin? Is he actually a virgin?_ It had to be too much to hope for. ‘She wanked you. Hmm.’ Harry skimmed Malfoy’s neck with his teeth, then kissed the reddened skin.

‘No, no. Well, yes, I _suppose_ , but that’s not what I mean.’

Harry continued, rewarded with a noise that shot to his groin and begged him to move closer and do it again.

‘We were on the sofa, and she—’ Malfoy made an undignified sound, but Harry knew it meant good things. Discovery and pleasure were a cruel combination for someone with little experience. Harry could stop at this spot and make Malfoy writhe, if tried hard enough, or he could jerk him up, then let him float down, just so Harry could take him higher again.

‘Mm. Tell me,’ Harry said and blew against the saliva-slick column of Draco’s throat.

‘Oh. . .that’s it, really. She slid into my lap and, ah. . .’ Malfoy made a gesture.

‘Made you come,’ Harry finished for him.

Malfoy’s cheeks were red, but he set his chin and nodded. 

‘With her hand?’ 

‘No.’

Harry kissed Malfoy’s jaw. ‘Her mouth?’ He wanted to hear that sound of pleasure and choking again, so he went back to Malfoy’s neck and sucked. His reward came immediately.

‘No. Just. . .squirming.’

Harry didn’t have permission to touch and he hadn’t asked for it. Now he wanted it. He wanted to know how Malfoy reacted to him, if he was just as in need as Harry was to come. ‘Ahh. Are you hard right now?’

Malfoy’s face darkened even more. _Yes,_ the look told Harry exactly what he wanted to know. He inhaled and heard the air as it glided over his teeth. He kissed Malfoy again, deeper this time, pressing and coaxing at Malfoy’s tongue until he got hold of it and sucked. If he could have willed thoughts into Malfoy’s head, he’d have told him to think about how it would feel for his cock to be in Harry’s mouth, just like his tongue was. Make him think about things he wouldn’t imagine without a nudge in the right direction.

Harry pulled off slowly. Malfoy sat dazed, like he’d got drunk off their kiss. Harry exhaled, seeing _want_ , smelling _need_ on his own lips. ‘Shall I show you what it feels like when someone knows what they’re doing?’

Malfoy didn’t seem to know where to go or what to think. But he nodded, gave his consent for Harry to do something to relieve him of the pressure he had to be feeling.

Knees hitting the floor, Harry winced, but reached out and ran his hands up Malfoy’s thighs. He was pure muscle, long legs, tension for miles. Harry flipped the folds of his robe open and went for the lacings of his old-fashioned trousers. Harry couldn’t unpick it and didn’t have the patience to work it out; he yanked, and some of the cord ripped through the fabric. Harry could feel the throb of Malfoy’s erection against his hands and applied pressure, enough to make him let out a soft groan that made Harry’s prick tingle. The outline of Malfoy’s – _sod it, Draco’s_ \- cock was thick; Harry wanted it in his mouth, in his arse – where he imagined it spreading him open and sliding against his prostate until he couldn’t breathe: that was what Draco was missing: utter abandon. Harry loved that he was the one tearing at his clothes, the one to touch him for the first time, feel his body fresh and pliant under his hand and mouth. 

Harry took Draco’s hips and pulled him to the edge of the chair and admired every inch of the hard, thick flesh he was about to take into his mouth. He leaned into the pale patch of pubic hair and inhaled, already smelling arousal – that tantalising mixture of sweat, pre-come and something else. It was good, the ultimate high. Harry took it all in and pressed his lips to Draco’s balls, their paleness replaced with a flush as heated as the one on Draco’s cheeks. It wasn’t going to take much to get him off. There was enough moisture rolling down his _incredible_ shaft that it looked like Harry had already sucked him for twenty minutes. Draco wouldn’t make it that long, but Harry absolutely was going to give him every bit of his expertise, all of his knowledge to make _this_ experience a damn sight more intense than his own hand and the nameless girl’s gyrations put together.

Draco’s balls tightened at the first kiss, and Harry let out a slow breath to play across his sensitive skin. It was glorious to behold the man who seemed bored with everything panting, tensing and moaning lightly under Harry’s ministrations. _My hands, my mouth – all over his cock._

He cheeks rode Draco’s shaft slickly, and he moved his tongue flatly over the ridges, and circled the head of his prick before taking hold of Draco with one hand and using the other to fondle his balls. 

Up, down; he teased and halted, pulling noises out of Draco that made him want to start all over after he’d come. Draco moved with him, lifting his hips and grabbing hold of Harry’s hair. Draco was a mess.

It was time to set him free.

Harry stroked and sucked, used his tongue, until he felt Draco’s balls tighten more, his body ready to explode. Harry let him. More pressure, more stroking, just the right squeeze to his sac, and Draco let out a sound that lanced through Harry. Hot spurts filled Harry’s mouth and he savoured every one of them, the salty and bitter tang of fucking and desire. He wanted it all. Draco shuddered, involuntarily starting when Harry’s mouth withdrew and licked the rest of the come away, squeezing the base of Draco’s cock with his spit-slick hand and drawing it out.

Sitting back on his heels, Harry looked at Draco. His face was a dark shade of red, sweat on his brow, and Harry’s head hurt from where his fingers had dug into his scalp. 

Harry’s wand sat fizzing on the table where he’d left it; the whole house felt full of energy. Unable to help it, Harry put his face in Draco’s crotch of ruffled fabric and his exposed cock. Draco smelled good. And even if he was hesitant about sex, there were other things they could do that might feel just as good. Considering how it could’ve gone, Harry was pleased. 

‘Good?’ he asked, tucking Draco back into his clothing.

Draco blinked like he’d been stunned. Harry moved over his body, brushing his cock against the fine body beneath him and kissed Draco. Fingers went straight to his hair, trying to hold on or pull him closer, Harry didn’t know. He felt wanted and needed, a rush conveyed through their mouths and lips. Draco was panting, so Harry pulled back just enough to give him air. 

He cleared his throat, visibly reaching for poise. ‘That was different.’

Harry chuckled. ‘My wand is still fizzing.’

‘You should hear the din in my workshop.’

‘I can imagine. So. . .different good or different bad?’

‘Different _different_.’ 

That would do for now. Draco looked satisfied; he reached for his drink and took a sip, and looked at Harry from under his eyelashes. There was nothing bashful about the look.

Draco eventually cleared his throat.

Harry looked. ‘Alright?’

‘Yes, ah.’ It was like he couldn’t find the words he wanted to ask. His expression gave a bit more away, a flush on his cheeks, his eyes on Harry’s groin.

‘Do you want to watch me wank?’

Draco’s flush darkened further.

‘Is that a yes?’

Draco cleared his throat again. ‘Ah.’

‘Just nod if you want me to, otherwise I’ll go to my room.’

Swallowing with an audible click, Draco nodded once.

Harry leaned back in the chair and unfastened his jeans, then pushed them and his pants down enough to give Draco a good view. Harry was still hard, watching the one who had made him so hard over the last few weeks, with his pale eyes and hair, and hectic flush of arousal. His took his cock in hand, pulling back the foreskin so Draco could see it all, see Harry and everything that came with him. There was no need to spit in his hand; there was enough lubrication from sucking Draco off that he just had to slip it along the length of his shaft and push the pad of his thumb over the sensitive head of his prick.

He knew he wouldn’t last long, but that wasn’t really the point. Each stroke, sliding his hand over his cock in a steady rhythm, felt better than the last. All of the pressure began and ended here, in this room, with this man, whose body he wanted to introduce to pleasure he’d never contemplated, it seemed. Draco watched, any remaining shyness breaking away like a cracked mask. His eyes didn’t leave Harry, he watched every stroke, every deep breath and throaty exhalation when pleasure built to the point of pain, sharp need to cut all ties to control. 

Running his unoccupied hand down his abdomen, every muscle twitching and begging for the anticipation to become satiation, Harry jerked hard on his cock, rolling his foreskin over the head. Skin slapped, the feverish wetness making a sticky sound as he took one last breath. Then the world exploded in pleasure, bone shattering and mind-numbing pleasure; come shot from his cock, ran over his hand, stuck wherever it landed. He groaned, still stroking, sending that fire through his body in uncontrollable waves. Draco’s name was on his tongue, but he swallowed it. He was too trapped in his own loss, the free-fall of rapture that crept up and lunged to push oblivion, sweet oblivion, through his body. 

When he looked at Draco, self-consciousness had returned: face flushed with something other than arousal, he looked away.

Harry smiled and cleaned himself up. ‘I think we should sleep together tonight.’

‘Do you?’

‘Er, we don’t have to. I was just. . . if you want to do more.’ 

‘I. . .’ Draco looked like a sheet of paper ripped in half: sleeping with Harry was on one side and something else was on the other.

‘Don’t worry about it. Bit soon. I reckon I should. . . I don’t know. Go relax, have a shower. That sort.’ He got up. ‘See you later.’

Harry asked Philomel to take him to his room. He was dizzy, wondering if Draco’s non-answer was a sign of regret. Nothing ever gave away what he was really feeling – unless it was about wands, and Harry wasn’t a wand by any stretch of the imagination. Uncertain, he went to the en suite and showered, re-playing the whole scene in his head, the way Draco had stared at him, the obvious desire when they’d snogged. Harry shook his head and decided not to dwell on it. Whatever happened now, he would meet it with the grace to accept Draco’s decision; it had to come from him. Harry couldn’t tell him what to do or guide him.

A knock at the door drew him from the bathroom with a towel around his waist. He frowned but went to open it, and was surprised to see Draco.

‘Oh, it’s you.’ He opened the door further.

‘I. . .I wasn’t sure if it was an invitation.’

Harry nodded. ‘It was. Wasn’t sure you’d. . . Come in.’ He shook his head. ‘Anyway. . .we can just sleep, you know. I don’t want to push things.’

Draco nodded. 

Harry grabbed a clean pair of boxers and pulled them on and took the towel back to the bathroom. Draco was already lying down, wearing one of those old-fashioned night shirts Philomel had left on this same bed the first night Harry had come to the Manor. Harry supressed a smile with some difficulty. It was only partly amusement at the nightshirt, though: he was glad Draco had come, especially since it was on his own terms. There were no expectations.

Draco hesitated for a moment but then seemed to find his courage and joined Harry in bed. He lay down and had his own space outlined. Harry moved closer and rose up on his elbow to look at Draco. 

‘What do you want, Draco? To sleep? Sex?’

Some shifting around and Draco said, ‘I don’t know.’

Harry settled and lay his arm across Draco’s chest. ‘Is this okay?’

Draco nodded. ‘It’s fine.’

Smiling, Harry closed his eyes and the lights dimmed on their own. He sank into sleep for a while, comfortable with Draco in his embrace. Something nudged Harry awake. Nothing physical, just a mental push that made him open his eyes. Draco hadn’t moved, his breathing was normal, not the slow steady rhythm of sleep.

‘Draco, go to sleep. We’re just sleeping.’ Harry said it softly and stroked Draco’s chest.

‘I’m not used to this.’

Harry knew that, but he’d thought giving Draco some space but still touching him would be simple enough. ‘Just relax, like you would in your room. I just happen to be here.’ Harry kissed him lightly. ‘What helps you sleep?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t sleep well.’

Harry thought about what made him sleep well and caressed Draco’s chest. ‘Maybe I can help. . .’ The caress became a one-way course to Draco’s groin. His hand slid smoothly over cock and balls. Draco startled but didn’t object. ‘Helps me sometimes. Do you want my hand or my mouth?’

There wasn’t a noise apart from Draco’s stuttered breathing. Harry felt his physical response immediately, thought, helping it along, pressing just enough with his palm. Harry’s breath caught in his throat, pleased by the quick reaction, loving the shape and feel of Draco’s arousal. There was so much he could do with Draco’s lovely, throbbing cock that he didn’t know where he wanted to start. He shifted and pulled his own pants off and looked at the man beside him. There wasn’t a word to describe him. Beautiful didn’t do him justice; it didn’t have the shape of ‘pure man’ in it, and the other ones that came to mind were foolish little words that didn’t fit the situation. 

‘Take your kit off.’

Draco’s eyes were glazed as he looked at Harry. ‘Take. . . ?’

‘Your nightshirt. I’ve decided I’m not done showing you things yet.’

Eyes glazed with arousal blinked at Harry, and Draco started fumbling to take his shirt off. He discarded it over the side of the bed and Harry looked at Draco’s naked, untouched body. His chest had scars, short, some long, a criss-cross of wild wand waving.

‘Yes, yes. They’re very pretty. You did a good job.’

How to tell him it was part of Draco now, but he was ashamed of it, he wondered. He shifted to his knees and propped himself over Draco’s chest and kissed the damage he’d left behind. ‘No. I’m sorry. I’m not proud of this.’ He ran his fingers over them, barely touching in case they still caused pain. ‘I’d take them back. Or trade.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

There was nothing ridiculous about it to Harry. Still hovering over Draco, he started at his collarbones and kissed his way across Draco’s chest, swiping hardened nipples as he went. Lower, to his ribs, breathing out against Draco’s heated skin. Harry moved his lips across the subtle muscle along Draco’s abdomen. 

Small twitches followed him lower. ‘Ticklish?’

‘Not since I was a child, I thought.’

Harry chuckled. ‘You’ve got a fantastic body.’

Draco shrugged. ‘It serves its purpose.’

Humble, now, Harry wondered, or just not interested in his own body because it wasn’t a wand. ‘Mm. I’ll show you some nice things to do with it.’

Draco gave him an odd look. ‘That sounds like something a character in one of those appalling novels of Theo’s would say.’

‘I wouldn’t know what Theo’s appalling novels are, so I can’t help you there.’ Harry bypassed Draco’s cock in favour of moving up his body again to kiss his neck. He wanted to hear that sound Draco had made earlier again. ‘I love that noise you make when I kiss you here.’ Harry shivered, the moan like a plea.

‘Please tell me that feels good.’

‘Mm.’ It clearly felt very good.

Needing his mouth on some part of Draco, Harry kissed him and dropped his hips to rub his cock against Draco’s hip. He exhaled in a rush. Pleasure spread through him like wildfire and he kissed Draco – not a gently, not in a way that might imply Draco would break if he added as much of himself to it as possible. He slipped his hand around Draco’s cock and stroked the already sticky shaft. This time Draco gave just as much as Harry, his unvoiced desires coming to life between their mouths. 

Draco arched into Harry and held his ribcage, then moving to Harry’s flanks and up Harry’s spine. Harry moaned, his body raging for more, as Draco continued to reciprocate. Harry shivered.

‘Mm. That’s nice.’ Harry released Draco’s cock. ‘I have no plans on letting you come yet.’

‘What?’

‘You will come. Just not yet. I want to draw out the pleasure as long as I can.’

‘ _That_ sounds like something from one of Theo’s novels, too.’ His tone was dark.

Harry couldn’t give a tinker’s cuss for Theo or his novels in that moment. He pushed Draco onto his back and shoved the duvet and sheets down, then stabilised himself. He went for Draco’s balls, sucking each of them. Draco let out an interesting noise, arched his back, and spread his legs nicely; Harry wasn’t going to turn down the invitation. He moved into empty space, licking, sucking, teasing with his mouth what had so generously been offered to him. He stroked the tender inside of Draco’s thighs, his fingers spread completely, pressing his palm against Draco’s skin. He went all the way to Draco’s hips, then took hold of his cock again. The tension grew in his mouth, he could feel Draco getting close, the noises he made a perfect match to his reactions. Draco’s hands pulled at Harry’s hair, seemingly lost to guide what he wanted, even if it was to come _right now_. If Harry didn’t stop, he would. He could feel it building, the tightening of skin and his balls drawing up against the base of his cock. It was too soon: Harry didn’t want it to end yet. He released Draco’s balls, then held his cock up and licked from base to top, his tongue flat, Draco’s flavour rushing through him.

Moving up, Harry flattened his body against the other man’s and kissed him.

Draco’s hands landed on Harry’s shoulders, and he pushed, hard, turning them over, to pin Harry down.

Harry chuckled. ‘What’s this, then?’

No words, just a firm kiss that flung all thought from Harry’s mind. Harry stroked Draco’s sides, his back, his arse, and arched up to rut against him. Draco learned quickly; he ground down, pressing their cocks together, tighter with Harry’s hold on Draco’s arse. Harry moaned. Draco felt heavy against him, his movements forceful, inexorable. Draco’s lips, tongue and teeth roamed Harry’s neck, making him moan, pant harder. Harry realised he wasn’t going to make last much longer at this rate. He bent his knees to lift Draco up. 

‘Not so fast.’

Draco pressed down hard, managing to brush against Harry despite his best efforts to put some distance between them. 

‘We’ve got all night, or however long before you kick me out.’

Harry used his leverage to get Draco on his back again. ‘You’re not the only one who wants to come, Draco.’

Draco pulled Harry’s hips down hard and ground upwards, clearly unwilling to enter into a discussion. It would have been easy to let go, let Draco drive the rest, but Harry wasn’t ready. Getting Draco off earlier should’ve calmed some of this need down, but it only seemed to have made it stronger. Harry lifted himself away.

A growl came from below.

Harry liked that sound, too. He licked his lips. ‘You want to come?’

‘Yes, damn you.’

It wasn’t cruel, Harry told himself. He was showing Draco how good it could be when he was taken the edge, pulled back, led there again and still not let go, not until the last possible moment, right at the edge of endurance, where the release would be all the more explosive. He sucked Draco’s cock and balls more, listening to the wild, abandoned sounds that were so far removed from anything he might have expected to hear from the bored, lazy man who had first greeted him in the library. He straddled Draco’s hips, rubbing their cocks together, stroking, undulating into Draco. He went for another kiss, and felt a firm hold on the back of his head, Draco answering every move. Their bodies were slick with sweat, pre-come and Harry’s saliva; the friction was the sort of feeling Harry could taste, and it was delicious. 

Draco’s head dropped back as Harry kissed his neck, noises like sin escaping his mouth. Harry growled and nipped Draco’s neck. He wasn’t getting enough friction where he was; he broke the kiss long enough to shift and wrap Draco’s legs around him, letting his full weight give both of them what they wanted. He thrust, rocking back and forth. Tension filled him, and he rutted harder, faster. Their bodies were slick, and the pressure was finally perfect. Harry pulled back, withdrew too far and his cock slid down the curve of Draco’s arse, across his hole. Draco yowled and bucked more tightly into Harry, pressing his legs wider to force his cock against Harry’s stomach, and Harry found his cock squeezed tightly – wonderfully, agonisingly tightly – in the cleft of his arse, dragging against that constricting muscle with every thrust. He kept moving, his back arched as he rubbed harder. He felt the tensing and relaxation of Draco’s arsehole, his body moving wildly to get _more_.

[ ](http://www.marchais-walker.com/HarryxDraco.jpg)

Harry moaned, his mind rushing. He pushed, and slickened skin slipped. Draco’s body gave; Harry’s cock slid into Draco’s arsehole, just enough for the muscle to clamp down and make Harry pull back then thrust again reflexively. He went in a little more, feeling Draco spread open around him, tight but welcoming. Draco moved and Harry sank deeper into him, sweat, split and pre-come easing his way in, deeper, deeper until his balls were against Draco’s skin. Draco jolted, making the hold on Harry’s cock tighter.

‘Wh—’ crumbled into a mass of vowels as his shuddering brought Harry to the perfect angle.

Harry set a rhythm, bending over Draco to kiss him against all of those noises, thrusting, pushing his hips up, tracking that angle, that spot. Draco’s body tightened, he cried out, and come spurted over his belly, pooling in the hollow of his abdomen. Harry rolled his hips. He heard his heart in his ears, the fast thumping of pleasure, the snap of all control with Draco’s clenching and shuddering. He jerked, moaned, the bottom falling out of his world as he came. 

He was panting and shaking, trying think, but his brain wouldn’t work. Draco looked blissed out, like he was on another planet, and Harry felt like he was going to fall apart. He withdrew carefully and settled beside Draco, running a hand across his chest, stroking his face. 

Draco went still. 

Harry looked at him. ‘You alright? Draco?’

Draco didn’t look happy, even though it had sounded like he’d liked everything that had just happened. ‘I would like to get up.’

It was hard to swallow with his heart in his throat, but Harry moved to give Draco enough room to get up.

Draco lurched toward the bathroom and closed the door behind him. There was a flush, then the sound of the shower coming to life. Harry worried at his bottom lip, uncertain about what was going to happen next. They’d had sex. Not just frotting sex, or oral, or a shared hand-job; they’d had _sex_. The exact sort that Draco had seemed so repelled by in the library. For all Draco had enjoyed it at the time, Harry wasn’t going to kid himself: it could get very ugly, very fast. He deliberately stopped thinking about it. Until he _saw_ Draco again, he would have no idea how the man was really reacting; he could go either way.

Draco eventually emerged and Harry looked at him.

‘Not now.’

Harry nodded and watched Draco leave, feeling completely drained. It took ages, but he finally fell asleep early in the morning, trying not to worry too much.

Harry was sluggish when he rose. He went down to breakfast, surprised and pleased to see Draco there already. He smiled broadly.

‘How are you?’ he asked.

Draco put his newspaper down, and Harry’s heart stalled at his expression. ‘I still don’t like the idea of it. But it was. . . not unpleasant.’

Relief made Harry’s head swim. _He doesn’t hate me. Thank fuck._ ‘Okay. I don’t know what you want me to do.’

‘I don’t want you to do anything. I just thought you might like to know.’

It was much better than it could have been and Harry was thankful. ‘So does that mean you’re willing or unwilling to do it? Or. . . ?’

Draco shifted, and the way his bearing changed told Harry that he was about to say something big, something he probably hadn’t thought he’d ever say. ‘I’m. . .not unwilling. I think. If last night _was_ a true indication of it.’

Harry nodded, realising he had been holding his breath. ‘Usually, yeah. I’m willing to do it, too.’

Draco’s expression moved from relief to apprehension. ‘Then I suppose we are agreed.’

‘Mmm.’ Harry went around the table and kissed Draco, pleased his worst fear hadn’t been realised.

‘Will you stop tonight?’

‘In your room, you mean?’

‘Mm. If you’re more comfortable, we can go to yours. I’m not fussed with where we are.’

‘I think I’d prefer mine.’

Harry nodded, smiling. ‘Alright.’

###

Harry sent his Patronus to Luna when Draco had gravitated to his workshop to ask her to come by the Manor. He intentionally did not explain why. He had reached the end of what he could do with the research, so it was time to turn it over to clever minds.

Luna finally arrived after dinner, and Harry hadn’t seen Draco all day; he could understand it, he supposed. If he’d been Draco, he would have needed a few hours to get his head sorted out, too. It felt strange not to have spent most of the day without him nearby. He’d got used to him being around. He very carefully did not think about that in any more detail.

Luna didn’t stay long. Harry explained the whole thing to her and gave her everything he’d done. She lit up in her vague, dreamy way and promised there would be a Quibbler out in the morning and that she would send it to him. Harry smiled and looked at the desk, now empty of research notes and everything he’d done. He’d accomplished his goal, and it felt good.

Harry sat down at the desk when Luna had left and trailed his fingertips over its richly polished surface. He’d miss being at the Manor, miss Draco. Already missed Draco. 

He looked around and stopped at the doorway, where Draco stood watching him. The timing was just too neat to be coincidence: he must, for some reason, have been waiting for Luna to depart. Harry couldn’t work out the expression on his face. He didn’t get the opportunity to try. Draco crossed to him and Apparated them to a bedroom – presumably his own, but Harry didn’t have time to look at anything before Draco’s hands were in his hair and Draco’s tongue was in his mouth, and Harry’s higher reasoning abilities curled up and died as all the blood in his body plummeted to his groin. Draco learned _fast_. 

Time became a dream, a non-reality. Draco let Harry shag him again, then took control. His cock felt just as good as Harry had imagined it would. It slid in, thick and hot, opening Harry up in all the right ways. It didn’t matter how he moved; Harry felt him, felt every thrust, every throb of his cock, and moaned deeply. He hadn’t been with anyone like this before, inexorable and intense, and intently focussed on wringing out every quiver and sound of pleasure in Harry’s helplessly willing body. He bucked, body trembling, and his mind fragmented. A startled, halted sound came from above him, and Harry watched from a plateau of hazy euphoria as Draco lost it. 

Harry felt the smooth withdrawal and found himself wrapped up in Draco’s arms. He opened the eyes that he hadn’t been aware of closing, and found Draco watching him. 

‘Better?’ The roughness of his own voice told him as much as his pleasantly heavy limbs did about just _how much_ he had enjoyed that, 

‘Hmm?’ Draco’s tone was lazy and sleepy.

‘Was that better than the first time?’

Draco chuckled. ‘Yes, I think so. It was rather good.’

Harry smiled; he’d never heard Draco chuckle and it was brilliant to hear. He sounded genuinely happy.

‘Still prefer making wands to orgasm?’

Draco paused. ‘Hmm.’ He took a moment to consider, stroking Harry’s chest with his long fingers. ‘It’s hard to say.’ His hand trailed down and settled on Harry’s cock. ‘I may have to experiment a little more and let you know.’ He squeezed. ‘Or perhaps not a “little”.’


End file.
